A Man Called Sunday (14 page)

He didn't have long to wait, for in the next few minutes, the six warriors appeared at the edge of the trees, talking among themselves and pointing to the wagon tracks just recently left on the bank. In the next instant, one of them looked up and spotted the wagon in the gully several hundred yards away and began talking excitedly as he pointed to it. “Lakota,” Luke pronounced dryly. They were still too far for him to recognize the markings on their ponies as a symbol of that tribe, but he had a gut feeling. He could also feel Mary Beth tense as he said it and pull the shotgun up to her shoulder. “Let's wait and see what they're gonna do,” he told her. “They're a little out of range right now.”

The warriors took only a few minutes to decide their plan of attack. It was the option Luke had hoped for, because he could use his rifle most effectively that way. Screaming out their war cries, they spread out in a fan and charged across the bluffs. “Wait,” Luke cautioned Mary Beth. “Let 'em get a little closer.” He climbed up behind the seat where he could steady his rifle.

Forgetting her earlier morbid thoughts of doom, Mary Beth drew the hammers back on both barrels of her shotgun and braced herself, her fear having been replaced by a thirst for vengeance for David's death. Anxious now to make someone pay for it, she could wait no longer, and pulled the trigger when they were still a hundred and fifty yards away. Her shot, ineffective, was followed by one from the other barrel with the same results. With little choice, Luke took his first shot at the lead warrior, knocking him from his pony's back. The Sioux were well within the Henry's effective range, but Luke had planned to let them get within fifty yards, figuring that he would have time to eliminate two or three before they could retreat out of range. As it was, the five remaining warriors scattered to draw back out of range. In hopes of a lucky shot, he threw another round after them, but missed.

Thanks to Mary Beth's premature shot, Luke's plan to deliver a devastating blow to the war party was rendered ineffective. It would do little good to admonish her for it, or complain that her impatient action would probably serve to lengthen their siege. So instead, he patiently advised her that her shotgun would be of little use at that range.

“We got one of the bastards, though,” she said as she loaded two fresh shells into her shotgun.

“I reckon,” he replied, and resisted the temptation to tell her that if she had waited just one or two minutes longer, he would most likely have eliminated three of the warriors, and the rest might have gone home. In considering their present situation, however, he had to lay some of the blame at his feet. Thinking that most of the hostile Sioux were already in Sitting Bull's and Crazy Horse's villages, he had underestimated the number of small bands of warriors still leaving the reservations to join them. Already, they had been discovered by two different parties while traveling the Powder River Valley, and his thoughts returned to curse the wagon once more.
Damn wagon,
he thought,
like dangling bait in front of a wolf.
It was at this point that he decided to abandon it, although he had to admit that he had probably subconsciously made the decision when he had driven the wagon so far up the gully. His thoughts were interrupted then by a question from Mary Beth.

“What do you think they're gonna do?”

“Don't know,” Luke replied, although he had a pretty strong idea. “They pulled back to talk about it. We'll know soon enough.” He climbed down from the wagon. “I've got some things to do while they're makin' up their minds. You keep your eyes peeled on that riverbank and sing out if you see any of 'em movin' toward us again.”

While she watched for any signs of another attack, he gathered up David's extra rope and, using straps cut from the traces, began to fashion some packsaddles for the horses. He was convinced that the only chance they had of eluding this and any other war party was to abandon the wagon. It was going to be a hard decision for Mary Beth, but it was impossible to run from any hostiles that spotted their tracks in this open country, so it was now a matter of survival. For this reason, he didn't tell her yet. He still had another decision to make. There was no doubt that she would want to take more than they would be able to carry on the horses. But with five horses, three of which to use as packhorses, she could take a fair amount as long as it could be carried on a horse's back. The thing that troubled him was the fact that the two horses pulling the wagon were shod, while the other three were not. This fact meant they would still leave a white man's trail, even though they were traveling faster. David had the tools on the wagon to remove the shoes, but then they would be confronted with the probability of horses with sore feet slowing them down. It was a simple fact, the two of them on horseback, leading one packhorse, would move faster and more easily hide their trail.

“They're coming back!” Mary Beth called over her shoulder.

Luke dropped the pack he was working on and moved up beside her in the wagon. He saw at once what had caught her attention. The five warriors were spread out again, moving cautiously among the bluffs of the river in an attempt to get within range of their weapons. Without knowing how well they were armed, Luke had to wait to see what they considered an effective range. He was answered soon enough when one of the hostiles popped up from behind a tree at the edge of the riverbank and fired a shot that knocked a hole in the wagon's sideboards. Both Luke and Mary Beth ducked behind her trunk. “That ain't good,” Luke muttered. “One of 'em's got a rifle—sounds like an army Springfield.” The news was not good because it told him that the hostiles had a longer-range weapon than his Henry, and judging from the hole in the wagon's sideboard, they knew how to shoot it. To confirm it, a second shot rang out, sending another chunk of wood flying from the wagon.

Before scrambling around the end of the trunk toward the wagon seat, he had a pretty good idea what was going on. And when he eased his head up so he could see, it was confirmed, as a third shot punched a hole in the mattress propped up against the side. As he guessed, the warrior with the rifle intended to keep Luke down while his brothers made their way closer to the gully, probably carrying weapons of shorter range than the Springfield.
Come on, then,
he thought,
let them get a little bit closer and we'll see.
“Stay down behind that trunk,” he told Mary Beth. It was an unnecessary command. He crawled back to the tailgate and dropped to the bottom of the gully. Crouched behind the gully wall, he ran past the wagon tongue to a notch in the sandy soil. Laying his rifle in the notch, he eased up high enough to see the riverbank before him. After a few moments' search, he spotted the other four hostiles working their way in closer to him. Patiently, he waited for the shot. Finally one of the Indians broke from the bluffs about one hundred yards downriver and started to cross. Luke took careful aim and squeezed the trigger. The warrior collapsed and floated slowly down the river with the gentle tide. As soon as he fired, Luke moved a half-dozen yards to a new spot. Moments later, the Springfield spoke again, kicking up gravel in the spot he had just vacated.

“Keep your head down,” he called to caution Mary Beth again as shots from less powerful weapons opened up. From the popping sound of them, he guessed they were carbines similar to the Spencers he had taken from the first party. Searching back and forth along the bluffs, he waited for a glimpse of one of the warriors. When their assault offered no signs of success, the hostiles became impatient. It was what Luke was counting on. Anxious to be the first to kill the white man, one of the hostiles leaped up from his hiding place and bolted toward a high hummock near the water's edge. Luke took aim, leading him a little less than he would have a deer, and patiently shot him in midstride, causing him to tumble and roll a few times before remaining still.

Luke had barely withdrawn from the spot before two quick shots from the Springfield tore into the rim of the gully. “That damn Injun's pretty good with that rifle,” he muttered as he shifted to a new location. Crawling up beneath the branches of a clump of sagebrush, he found a better place to scan the terrain between the gully and the cottonwoods on the opposite bank. For a while, there were no more opportunities for a clear shot, for the two remaining hostiles, who had moved in closer, had evidently seen enough of Luke's accuracy with his Henry rifle to discourage them from continuing to advance upon the gully. All was quiet for quite some time before the two suddenly sprang from their hiding places and fled back to the cover of the trees as fast as they could run. Luke was not quick enough to hit either one. He cursed the missed opportunity.

“I think that'll most likely be it for the afternoon,” Luke said when he moved back to the wagon.

“Do you think they'll give up and leave us alone now?” Mary Beth asked, still huddled behind the trunk and clutching the shotgun.

“Don't know,” Luke replied. “Maybe. There's three of 'em dead. That might be enough for 'em. On the other hand, they might just be waitin' for dark and try to sneak in on us. They probably figure one of 'em can get around behind us and we can't cover all three of 'em. That's more likely what they're plannin' on.” He looked up at the afternoon sun. “It ain't gonna be much longer before dark, and they know we can't drive this wagon outta here with them sittin' there watchin' us.”

His assessment of their situation did very little to comfort Mary Beth's fears. From what she could see, they could not leave the gully without great odds of getting shot, and it was impossible to drive the wagon up the back of the gully. It was already wedged fairly snug in the mouth of it. “What are we going to do?” she asked, not at all comfortable with the idea of sitting in this grave they had dug for themselves and waiting for their executioners to close in on them.

“We're leavin' here as soon as it gets dark,” he answered. Before she could question him further, he laid it out for her. “We're leavin' your wagon right where it is. We can't outrun anybody with that wagon, and it leaves a trail that a blind Injun can follow, so we're ridin' outta here on horseback.” He paused to comment, “I hope to hell you can ride. Even if you can't, that's the way we're goin'.” She at once looked alarmed, and began to glance around in the wagon, concerned for all her possessions. Guessing her thoughts, he continued. “You're gonna have to leave most of this stuff. I rigged up a packsaddle for that sorrel, so we'll take the most important stuff, whatever we can get on the packhorse and behind us on the other two ponies.” Without waiting to hear her protests, he asked, “Can you ride a horse?”

“Well, I have ridden one,” she answered, still struggling with the notion that she might lose all her earthly goods.

“Good,” he replied curtly. “I expect you'll do better in the saddle, so I'll put you on my horse and I'll ride the spotted gray pony.”

“We didn't bring much furniture because David's brother said we could build most of what we needed out there,” she said. “But we have the bedstead and my trunk and some personal things that I can't leave. We can't carry all that on the horses.” She frowned her distress. “My mother's china, I can't leave that, our grandmother clock—” That was as far as she got before he interrupted.

“Ma'am,” he said sternly, “you ain't got no choice. If we're gonna get to your brother's house alive, you're gonna have to leave all that stuff. Take some clothes, some food, somethin' to cook it with, and whatever money you've got—guns and cartridges—that's all we have to have. We ain't takin' but one packhorse.” He went on to explain his reasons for setting her two horses free. “I know it's a hard thing for you to part with your things, but that's the way it's gotta be if you're gonna save your scalp. I'm ridin' out of here as soon as it's dark—with you or without you.” He knew he was putting it to her pretty harshly, but he didn't want to give her any room to argue the point. In truth, he would never leave without her, but if it became necessary, he would take her forcefully, convinced as he was that it was their best chance for escape. He felt now, since their recent Indian encounters, that it was too dangerous to try to continue pulling a wagon through the Powder Valley.

On her knees in the back of the wagon, she stared at him, stunned by the realization that she must discard possessions that had belonged to her mother and father, and desperate in the knowledge that her immediate fate depended on the rugged sandy-haired scout. The feelings of distrust she had felt in the beginning came back to frighten her now, but what choice did she have? He had threatened to leave without her if she balked. “All right,” she said finally, “I'll get my things ready to go.” She couldn't help adding “I guess you want to make sure I take all our money, money we saved up for our new home.”

“Only a hundred dollars of it,” he answered. “The rest is up to you.” He turned his attention back to the expanse of sand and gravel between the gully and the trees on the opposite bank of the river. Without turning to look at her again, he said, “Put everythin' you wanna take on the tailgate and I'll pack it on the horses.”

When the sun began to drop low on the hills to the west of them, he slid back down from the perch he had taken on the rim of the gully. “Crawl up there and keep your eyes open while I load the horses,” he instructed her. “Be mindful of the river both ways in case one of 'em tries to swim across and get in behind us.”

She dutifully did his bidding, although greatly disturbed that her situation had been so drastically changed. She no longer held any authority over a man she had originally hired. The fact that she was in no position to challenge his decisions added to her dismay, all the while knowing that if she was to escape this siege with her life, it would be him that saved her. These were the thoughts that crowded her mind while she strained to detect movement of any kind in the long shadows of twilight. They were not helped by the underlying basic fear that, at any moment, a screaming savage might suddenly spring up to take her scalp. So intensely was she watching the river and the bluffs beyond that she didn't hear his question. “What?” she asked.